The Floor
by andAshes
Summary: He was fine with this, really. He didn't see a point in going out when work took up most of his life. He had his routines, and he had his habits, and that was okay. Morgana was wasting her time when she said that Arthur needed to get out more. He didn't, she just needed to mind her own business and let Arthur be alone.


I wrote this while feeling rather blue. I hope you like it! I don't own anything and this is a Merlin/Arthur pairing.

I was watching Dexter a few weeks ago. In season five, Debra breaks down. I won't say too much more, but that scene _hurt_ because everything she said was something I knew so goddamn well. I won't say this is entirely inspired by that, but it helped. And if you do want to know what it is, it's episode five, "Dirty Harry". You can find it on Youtube if you look. I think I might have referenced Dexter in here, actually, so there we go xD

* * *

The sky is tinted orange, even though it's well after three in the morning. The rain is pouring in either fat heavy drops or a sheet of it. Lightning, thick and burning bright, flashes often. The rumbling thunder is near constant, he can't tell where one starts and another ends. It's loud, the air is charged and he wonders if it'll strike the earth, or a building, any time soon. There's so much of it, the chances of it happening are more than likely.

His cat, normally calm and unafraid, is pacing nervously. She's inside, though, walking the length of the house and waiting for him to get back in. The smoke is curling from the end of the cigarette, sitting outside under the slim shelter the house provides. He's just watching the storm, the knees of his soft pyjamas dotted with water from the spray of rain.

He tosses the half burnt cigarette off the balcony, listening to the hiss of it as it catches water. He goes back inside, grabs the cat and sits on the couch with her, scratching her behind the ears soothingly. She relaxes into his lap. He found her lurking outside, always in the same spot, and the day he thought enough to bring her a bit of food she followed him home, eager for more. She was affectionate, long haired and a sweetheart. He couldn't see why anyone had abandoned her, and if she were born in the streets she didn't act like it.

As the storm slowly faded, he carried her back into his room and tried to sleep.

The morning was wet and cold, refreshing and dark and welcoming. He always felt better in the rain, like it would rinse away all his thoughts and leave him whole again. He went to work, worked all day, came home and sat on the couch with his cat and watched another episode or two of some show before going to bed. Wake up in the morning, shower, repeat until he had a day off. His days off were spent alone, mostly, get groceries for the week and maybe go visit his father, sick and dying in the hospital bed, for little more than an hour. Then back home, another couple episodes, sleep, get up the next day, go for a run, get a coffee and drink it by the lake, surrounded by trees. Go home, put on the television and stare at it until he had to go back to bed.

It was his life, now, carefully chosen and planned out. His younger self would never have wished this kind of life on anyone, but here he was and he had chosen it. He had wanted the day in and day out monotony. Living, or perhaps existing, through each day obediently.

Occasionally, his sister worried about him. Showed up unannounced, told him that he needed to get out more, that he should come out with them. He declined, politely. Sometimes Morgana would try to set him up on a date, tell him that he needed to put himself out there again. He shouldn't be alone, she seemed to think, even though he was content. He only gave her a smile, pinched and weak, and told her he just wasn't interested.

Long ago, he had realized he wasn't cut out for relationships. The people he knew at work didn't like him enough to see him outside of it, he knew that. But it was a job, he was their boss, he wasn't expected to be their friend. And it was okay, really, he was fine. It used to ache sometimes, knowing exactly what the problem was and distressing over how he could _fix_ it. He doesn't anymore, he knows that it can't be fixed, that he's the problem, it's never been anyone else.

So he waves Morgana off, hugs her and assures her that he's just fine and that he doesn't need anyone. Sends her on her way, smiling in a way that makes the shadows in his eyes more prominent. When she's gone he sits down on the couch again, the empty spaces all around him cold and unfriendly, stares at the screen for seventeen minutes before realizing it's on the French channel, and he doesn't understand a word of French.

He sank into the couch, deeper, and fell asleep there with the cat nowhere to be found.

_Sophia_

She was beautiful, really, round face and long dark hair. Petite, a lot shorter than him and full of pretty smiles. She owned a couple of goldfish, they swam around in the little bowl, happy. And things went well for awhile, he thought, they got along well before she started pushing him away. Telling him he was too overbearing. Telling him he should stop being so controlling, that he needed to relax. If she wanted to spend a night in there was no reason for Arthur to be so cross.

He was young, stupid, they fought and the goldfish bowl clattered to the ground. Water soaked the carpet, little glittery rocks caught the light from the lightbulb, the fish fluttered, their tiny bodies trying to find the safety of the water.

Arthur's hands were wet, he had done this, and he turned his gaze to her. She looked so wounded, like he had actually reached out to hit her. He tried to reach out to her, comfort her, apologize to her, but she backed away, eyes wide, so he just left.

And he didn't come back. For weeks, he only saw the goldfish on the floor surrounded by coloured stones.

xXx

He woke up a bit late, dragged himself to the mirror and stared into his reflection. There were lines on his face, now, he wasn't so young anymore. He wasn't a child, he wasn't young and foolish but he knew he was still the problem. He pressed his palm to his cheek, the skin still soft though it looked weathered. He felt as though he were in his fourties, going on fifty in just a few years, though he was barely past his twenties. He washed his face, rinsing away the tiredness, feathered a hand through his hair and figured he could go a day without washing.

Then he was coming home again, after another day of work, sinking into his mattress and falling asleep because he was too tired to stay up, too tired to find his cat. When he woke up, she was curled up beside him. The one relationship he wouldn't ruin, she was just a cat, so long as he kept petting her and buying her food, she would still love him.

_Kay_

He was a bit abusive, kind of rude, but fun in a way he hadn't done before. He tried not to be controlling, tried not to be overbearing, tried not to control him, let Kay do what he wanted so Arthur stayed on the back burner, slowly simmering and waiting to be paid attention to.

Kay was cheating on him for most of the relationship. Telling Arthur that he was too passive, that he expected more from someone who seemed so passionate. He angrily declared that he had walked all over Arthur on purpose, see how much shit he would take. It was Kay who got tired of it, while Arthur patiently waited. Arthur, who had only found out that Kay was cheating because Kay had brought someone else, some blonde curvy little thing, to his place. Kay laughed at him, told him all the things he had done. How much Arthur had been used, and Arthur just left without a word. No protest, just like that, it was done. He was done.

xXx

His skin was warm, it was hot today and he was running. All he could hear was his heart in his ears, the sound of his feet hitting the pavement, his breath, the rushing of his blood through his veins. And after he had run enough, he stopped at that little stand. The truck that sold coffees and teas and biscuits, he bought a tea today because coffee didn't keep him awake anymore. He walked to the little bench, sitting down on it and staring out over the lake.

The branches hung around him, dipping into the water. The waves were lazy, meeting the shore peacefully, like they were old friends. It was shady here, protected by the sun and the light breeze. He drank only a few sips of the tea, fingers warmed by it, before he was dumping it out and turning away, tossing out the container and running back to his place. Once there, he showered quickly and grabbed a book, reading only three pages before he couldn't do it anymore. He skimmed the words, rather than reading them, searching for something he couldn't name. He put it down, put his feet on the coffee table, sank into the couch behind him, stared at the screen in front of him until his eyes began to blur the images, then went to bed.

Another day lived through, another work week about to begin.

_Mithian_

She had a kid when he met her, he was only three years old and took an instant shine to Arthur. It was those moments that he thought he might want to have kids of his own one day, fill the corners of his life with random toys left on the floor and a child's laughter. He tried not to be too overbearing, tried not to be too passive, tried to be somewhere in the middle. He tried to be _good_.

They dated for two years. And after a year, he began to realize she just liked the fact that Arthur liked her kid. That he would buy him things, take him out when she wanted the day to rest. There was nothing between them, they were together out of convenience.

And she was seeing someone else. She told him he lacked passion, that he was great with kids and a great man, but empty. There was something missing, and nothing she had done could fix that emptiness, that darkness, inside of him.

xXx

The day his father died shattered his schedule completely. He knew it was coming, old age had caught up with him, finally, the businessman who everyone thought would never die. He took two weeks off of work, mutely arranged the funeral, met with his father's partners, sat in their offices over tumblers of whiskey and gin, a single ice cube in each glass.

There was his father's home to deal with, inheritance, both he and Morgana could retire now and never have to work again if they wished. Arthur, in a fit of viciousness, donated thousands of his father's money to the charities he openly disagreed with.

It made him feel a bit better.

The day of the funeral was filled with people who likely hadn't cared about his father, and he was invited to speak to everyone. He spoke plainly, outlining his father's accomplishments, pretending that his failings hadn't happened. A funeral was no time to disrespect the man.

And after his two week vacation was up, Arthur was back to his usual routine.

_Gareth_

This time - he tried to just be himself. And it worked with Gareth, for a little while, it was perfect. They clicked, well, really well, and Arthur thought that this could work. Maybe he was trying too hard, before, now he was just Arthur and Gareth seemed to like him.

But they started fighting. And after they fought, Arthur realized that he was the one who got angry over nothing. He was the one to make a big fuss over something that didn't matter. And even though he realized that, began to notice it, he couldn't _stop_ it.

He was the one who ended it, before it got too bad, before he ended up pushing the man away completely.

Just another notch, he thought, another name to add to the 'people I've pushed away' list. He still remembered the goldfish, after all these years.

xXx

He still went for coffee on the weekend after a run, he finished the series he had been watching, and floundered briefly, wondering what he should do now, before settling on another. A show about someone who pretended to be normal. Arthur wondered if he was pretending, too.

He kept to his schedule, diverting Morgana's voice insisting that he go and do something meaningful, that he go out with them tomorrow night, that he just goddamn smile sometimes. So he gave her a pinched smile and told her that he had far too much to do, that taking all that time off of work had put him behind. She left in a huff, throwing her hands into the air and declaring him utterly pointless.

And he smiled ruefully, eyes downcast and staring at the floor. He hadn't expected to lose Morgana so abruptly, she was related to him, he didn't expect that she would walk out on him too. He laughed, suddenly, the sound bursting from his chest painfully. He sank onto the couch, under a thick blanket as it started raining outside, and watched the rest of the first season of the show. Staying up far too late.

Then, the next day, getting back into his careful schedule.

When he went for a run, it was still raining. He still left, paying hardly a care to it, running to the little truck and asking for a coffee. With a gross amount of sugar, please, and three cream because he had an awful sweet tooth and it was raining, so they didn't have the table with all their sugars and creamers in plastic cups like they usually did. He took the coffee, walked it to the bench and sat down, staring ahead of him. It wasn't raining so much here, only a handful of drops broke the surface of the lake.

There were footsteps beside him, someone was sitting down on the bench right next to him and he could smell the fragrant tea they were sipping.

He was tense, at first, before settling again. The boy didn't say a word to him, all dark hair and pink cheeks, a scarf wrapped around his chin, which seemed to get in the way, sometimes, of his drinking. He'd tuck it under his chin, only for it to slide back over it when he fixed his gaze forwards.

When the coffee was empty, or nearly, he got up without a word and left, going back home and sinking under the spray of the scalding hot shower. His skin was flushed red when he stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist and settling in to try to read, try to concentrate on something. In the end, he sat in front of the television screen, petting his cats ears and listening to her soft purring.

_Guinevere_

She was his last attempt. His last shot, the last time he was going to put himself out there. If it happened again, he was done, he didn't think he could survive any more of it. He confessed to her, after dating for a little while, how broken he was. How he tried so hard, but he always made the final mistake, he was always the one to push them away.

She stoked his hair, told him she loved him, kissed his jaw and told him that it wasn't him, that it was everyone else. He just hadn't found the right person.

They fought, sometimes, they argued on occasion, they made up and they were _happy_. He thought about asking her to marry him, and as time went on, he bought the ring and kept it with him, waiting for the right moment to propose.

But things had been tense lately, and he didn't realize until it was too late. Until he had already lost her heart, until she left her phone on the bed when she went to shower, and someone who was named 'Lance' in her phone asked her when she was coming by. That he couldn't wait to see her, and Arthur realized that he just hadn't been good enough. And when she came out of the shower, saw the look on his face, her expression crumpled. 'I'm so sorry' she had said, as if that made it better. 'It's nothing against you, I promise, Lance is just everything-' and she cuts herself off, realizing what she's saying. He smiles, because he's done now, this is over, and takes her face in his hands and kisses her forehead, tells her 'good-bye', and leaves her place.

xXx

Arthur almost forgot about that boy, the one with messy dark hair and the scarf. It's been raining more, so he's bundled up a bit as he runs, and the boy sits beside him again. This time he notices the sharp lines of his cheeks, the hard line of his jaw and chin, the way his lower lip sticks out a little bit, curling into a content smile as they sit together. He notices blue-blue eyes, and then leaves again. They hadn't said a word to each other, and Arthur doesn't want to. He needs no more friends, no more lovers, no more _people_ in his life. Even his sister hasn't been around lately.

He keeps watching that show, connecting to it in a way it feels foolish until one of the characters breaks down, stands in a parking lot and says that _she's the problem_ and that it's not anyone else. That she's the one who always destroys everything, and he aches for a fictional character who's been written into the role he's played in his own life. He can't watch anymore after that, the sound of her breaking down over the things he knows so intimately too much for him to take. He hides in his room, stares at the wall until he falls asleep.

He doesn't run the next day, doesn't have the heart to, and he can't bring himself to watch any more so he starts something new instead, stays bundled up under a blanket and lets the storm ravage the world outside.

He goes to work, smiles, directs his employees, tells them when they're doing well, goes home, sleeps, goes back to work. He does it for five days and hasn't touched the series again. Goes for a run on Saturday, not Sunday like he normally does, at a loss for anything else to do. There are too many hours in the day he doesn't know how to fill. He stops for coffee, and looks up through the window of the truck to see blue-blue eyes, staring down at him, giving him a grin. He only stares. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to notice" the stranger jokes, his voice thick and smooth, heavy to his ears. Arthur says nothing, only takes his coffee and leaves.

He knows where this could go - and experience has told him to stay away. It's not going to happen, not again, he's too hurt to be truly tempted. And stops going to that coffee truck.

Guinevere's wedding invitation shocks him, when he gets it in the mail. He stills has that ring, he realizes, the one he had bought for her when he had planned on proposing. And he knew she had found someone else, so he wondered why this was such a shock, why his hands trembled, why he thought about not going. Inside the envelope was a hand-written letter in Morgana's spidery scrawl. It told him he had better be there, and he realized just how out of the loop he was when he realized that he hadn't knowing that Morgana and Gwen were close.

He ignored the invitation, set on the first few crisp days of spring, for a few weeks. And finally, he scheduled the days off and checked the 'yes I'm coming' box and sent it away in the mail.

Over the winter, he spent a lot of time sleeping. Thinking about the group of friends he had once had, the ones that had one by one stopped talking to him. To this day, he still hadn't known why. He had only stopped meeting them and they had never asked questions.

He wondered if he should bring a date, find someone he worked with to bring with him so he didn't look so alone. So in the two years since he had seen Gwen it wasn't apparent that he had been alone.

But when he caught his gaze in the mirror, it would have been impossible to miss it. He tried to smile, and he wondered why the mirror hadn't cracked at the sight of it. The smile broke through his features, cracking the lines under his eyes and highlighting the shadows lurking behind the faded blue. He just had a birthday, quietly celebrating his thirties by doing the same thing he always did, his age was showing more than ever.

He second guessed himself, wondering if he should back out now and save him the trouble of seeing anyone. Faces he knew, people he would be expected to smile at.

The wedding was blue, mostly, pale lights on the centre of each table. The faint purple light reflected on everyone's skin, it was calming in a way, though he felt anything but.

There were so many people, faces he knew and many he didn't. He wished he were home, it was Saturday, so he would have gone shopping for a few things. He was nearly out of cat food, and the new show he started was just getting interesting. He would rather be anywhere but here. His face hurt, the false smiles and the lies he kept writing every time he spoke wore down on him.

Arthur was a smoker of convenience, smoking only when it meant he could get away from everyone for a little bit, sneaking outside, and he did so, often, at this wedding. He had struggled through witnessing the actual marriage, where Guinevere stood with her hands folded into Lance's, wondering if they could have been happy, had he proposed sooner. It might have been him up there, holding her hands and smiling at her that way. But it wasn't his place, he didn't have a place here. He was meant to be alone.

He was sitting at the table with Morgana, who had barely spoken to him this whole time. Still cross, he expected, though she had given him a smile, told him she was glad he had decided to come. He only nodded, corners of his lips quirked upwards because then he could smile without looking like a wreck. And around their table were faces he only sort of recognized, but one. A kid with blue-blue eyes, smiling like the world spun just for him, like nothing had ever made him sad - like no one had ever dared to take his smile away.

Arthur excused himself, standing and patting down his pockets just to be sure.

He went outside, lit up a cigarette and pressed his back into the wall. The smoke was harsh in his lungs, maybe he was too old for this. Not like he did it a lot, the ones he had were stale because he'd probably bought them a month ago. But it meant a few minutes to himself, so this was the only reason he carried them with him. The pack damaged, the cardboard edges worn soft, nearly every cigarette bent, one was broken.

The gravel crunched, someone was walking towards him, and he looked up.

That boy stood there, watching him, giving him a smile. Arthur only nodded, turning his head away, seething because he just wanted to be alone. He had the ring in his pocket, the one he had once upon a time meant to give to Guinevere. He didn't know why he had it, perhaps he would still give it to her.

The boy stood beside him, quietly, and when he was done the stale cigarette, he went back inside, hands in his pockets, head down. The boy didn't follow.

Once the music started, it was easier. Everyone mingled, he stayed where he was, sitting in the chair and watching everyone else. He spotted that boy, and got up to go outside again. He wasn't young and stupid anymore, he knew that look. The kid was going to talk to him - Arthur could at least make sure it was on his own terms.

The boy stood beside him again, not saying anything, and he knew it was only a matter of time. Soon, he would start speaking. And Arthur would have to listen.

"I asked Gwen who you were." He said softly, suddenly, and of all things he hadn't expected that one. "She said she dated you before she met Lance. Said that you didn't let yourself love her." His voice was still thick, warm, his words weren't accusing but they stung because they were true. Guinevere had never loved him either.

Arthur said nothing, missing the blanket he kept over the couch, the loving cat who had never turned her back on him. "Guess whatever I say won't matter." His voice turned sad, and Arthur couldn't understand why. "You never noticed me, not until I sat beside you. You looked so alone, so sad, I wanted to help."

He shook his head, slightly, a jerky movement because he didn't want help. He didn't need help. He liked his life, his routine. He didn't want to change it, he didn't want to go through all of this again.

"I've never seen anyone who looked like that before." He said firmly, though Arthur wondered if the waver in his voice was his imagination or not. "Whatever you think you've done, you're wrong."

He almost laughed, because it was stupid. Was this stranger trying to be meaningful? Trying to break through his defences to see 'the real Arthur'? No, there was no 'real' under all of his masks. He was just this, a shell, a man who knew exactly where he stood, and stayed there obediently, and he was fine with that. Morgana had tried, even Guinevere had tried, but it didn't change anything. He knew what he did, he knew it was always him to push someone away. He was always the one who didn't know how to treat people.

Arthur moved, getting up from where he was leaning against the wall and made to leave. The stranger grabbed his wrist, blue-blue eyes begging him to stop. "I'm not done." He said, words bitten out bitterly.

"I am." And he really, really, was. He was done with everything, Especially kids who didn't even know his name.

He went home as soon as it was acceptable for him to do so, going straight to sleep. But he wondered, a little bit, if maybe he should try. One last 'last shot' before giving up. He had already given up, that much was clear. He just didn't want to leave someone else cross with him, or hurt because of him. he knew he would.

The next day someone was banging on his door, and he suspected it would be Morgana, giving him another chance when he knew he deserved no more. So finally he moved, went to the door and opened it. Blue-blue eyes stood there, not Morgana, looking at him like he mattered.

And Arthur sighed, this was him giving in as he stepped back to let the stranger in. Nothing he did was going to push him away, he thought, he was stubborn. So Arthur let him in and returned to his spot on the couch, the cat disgruntled, staring at him rather than sitting with him, before she noticed the stranger.

She was nuzzling up to him, affectionately, purring at him and Arthur couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.

The stranger sat down on the couch, the other end, and she was curling up in his lap. He didn't pry, he didn't speak, he just sat there with his eyes fixed on the screen. And they stayed like that, until Arthur finally paused it and got up to make something to eat. The stranger followed him into the kitchen, sitting down on the stool and watching him as he cooked. They hadn't exchanged a word, Arthur didn't even know his name yet here he was, making enough food for two people.

It had been a long time since he had properly sat down with someone to eat - and found that he hadn't missed it. There was all the worrying that there was something on his face, self-conscious about the fact that he was putting food into his mouth and chewing it.

After they ate, the stranger only watched him as he took away the dirty dishes and cleaned them. He wanted this boy to leave, he couldn't handle letting someone see what his life had turned into - even if it was the life he had chosen. No one else was supposed to see it, see him like this, damaged and just existing like this. His eyes were sad, as he watched Arthur carefully put the clean dishes in the drying rack, carefully moving through the kitchen to wipe the small spill on the stove.

Without looking at the stranger, he said '_leave_' and waited. He heard his footsteps, soft like a whisper, a hand, long fingered and warm, touching his shoulder. The contact made him jump, the man kept it there, then slowly stepped away. He heard him put his shoes back on, heard the door open and close. Then he was alone again, the way it should be.

The next night the boy showed up again, Arthur didn't let him in.

But he didn't stop trying. And by the next weekend, he caved and let him in. "What do you want from me?" He demanded, his voice rough. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist, not when the temptation was there - but he knew how it would end and that's what he didn't want.

"I want to see you smile." The stranger said, smiling kindly, and out of spite Arthur smiled his fragile smile, the one that fractured his face.

The boy tilted his head back and laughed, and Arthur only turned away from him, leaving the door open. It was a silent invitation that the boy took, he sank into the room and slipped off his shoes, scooping up his cat and handing her to Arthur, who was sitting on the couch again. And, fondly, the stranger ran his fingers across Arthur's hair as he passed. "Who are you?" He asked, voice soft, he hadn't flinched at the touch but it was a near thing.

And the boy was named Merlin, and he came by almost every night. Sometimes Arthur didn't let him in, sometimes he did. And it was always the same, they would sit together in silence, and it hurt to know that he thought he might have wanted Merlin but couldn't because he would just _hurt_ him. Though they never spoke, Merlin was charming and kind. He could see it in him.

After a few weeks of this, Arthur realized what he was doing. By keeping him away, by refusing to speak, he was hurting Merlin. He could tell, he could see it in him. Arthur's presence was draining the life out of him. He huddled in his bed after realizing it, curling in on himself and trying not to _think_ anymore. He hadn't even realized it, he hadn't noticed, he had almost come to enjoy Merlin's presence. But he kept him so far away, cooked for him and let him into his home but he didn't let him in.

He had already done his damage, what more could he do now? How much more could he put the poor boy through?

He called in sick the next day, lacking sleep, unable to eat, to function properly. And his sister, too, by refusing her encouragement, he had hurt her. By showing his face in that wedding he had given people more reasons to try to contact him, to worry about him.

It was always hard when this realization hit him, when he noticed what he had been doing, when something sparked and he finally opened his eyes. It was just easier if he cut himself off from them, locked himself away, told them to leave him alone, only a quick rejection and then the damage wouldn't be drawn out.

Merlin came by later that night, again, and Arthur barely had the strength to get up. He walked slowly to the door, opening it and simply saying 'go away' before closing it.

Merlin stuck his foot between the door and the frame, saying his name as if it were somehow important. And it wasn't, he wasn't, and he thought about fighting him but gave in, stepping away, retreating deeper into the house. Merlin followed him, concern written on his face. "Arthur, please." He was saying, or something like that. His emotions were fluttering under his skin, it felt as though he were going to burst at any moment.

"No" he found himself saying, "just go away." But Merlin wouldn't, he stayed where he was. His blue-blue eyes flashing with concern, worry, and he turned away from him. "Just stop" he was almost begging, "just leave now."

"Why? What's the problem? Why should I leave?" Merlin was asking, his voice wavered, and Arthur hated the sound.

"Because I can't" he found himself saying, voice shuddering, fighting for control. "Because I've already hurt you and I'm just going to keep doing it because that's what I _do_. I hurt people, I'm the problem, I'm what's _wrong_."

His voice cracked, and with it, he did too, held up only by the places were his palms rest on the counter.

"Fuck, Arthur" Merlin's voice was soft, drawn out, he was putting his hands on Arthur's back and stepping in close. He didn't have the energy to push him away this time. He didn't have the strength, "you're not the problem." Merlin was muttering, wrapping his arms around his middle, chin pressing into the back of his neck. "You're just tired, Arthur, you're just holding onto things that don't matter. You're fine." His words drifted away from him, he was sinking to the floor. Merlin stayed clinging to him, kneeling behind him, trying to support him. Merlin held him as if he could keep him together with just his arms.

And so finally, Arthur sagged back against him, eyes closed, giving up. "It only hurts to see you like this" came that soft voice, murmured into his shoulder. "From when I saw you, I've never seen someone look so fractured. I wanted to get to know you, I wanted to let you know everything would be okay. I worried that you'd stop showing up one day, that you might just kill yourself one day and I wouldn't be able to do a fucking thing about it." Merlin was squeezing him tighter now, hiding his face in his collar. "When I saw you at the wedding I couldn't believe it was you, you were Arthur, the guy Morgana worried about. She never worries about fucking anything."

Merlin's breath shook, he held so tightly, Arthur just lay against him, eyes lidded, one of his hands had come to rest over Merlin's. He tilted his head, nose in Merlin's hair, "never thought about dying." He admitted, softly, and he hadn't. It had seemed weak, a foolish choice, what a lesser man had done.

And later, Arthur used Merlin's lap as a pillow and realized he didn't have a choice in the matter anymore. Merlin was going to be here, like it or not. And Merlin was going to run his hands through Arthur's hair and grin stupidly down at him. And Arthur would let him, because he'd take another chance. One last 'last shot'. And if this didn't work out, he'd probably move away. Go traveling on his father's money, see the world and don't stay long enough to hurt anyone.

And a few years down the line, long after Merlin's moved in with him, Arthur realizes that he's somehow become happy - and that Merlin isn't leaving him.


End file.
